Today was one of those days. I woke up late, at 10:30 or so, eager to face the world and then opened up the web to the NY Times, as usual. Today wasn't usual. 12 Dead. 38 Wounded. The Dar Knight Rises. I had this crazy project to work on....freelance. All I could do was stare at the screen. Nope. Most of that work wouldn't get done today. It would have to wait.
Why? How many of these fucking shootings have to happen in the US until we have to face guns?
God, I was asking earlier today, how much worse it could have been if the guy had stood at the exit of the theater. How much worse it could have been.
Why is that even a thought I had?
4:21 Awake with that.
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Love
I've written about that hate shit for the past two posts and feel like it is time to turn the tables back to the other extreme in a way. Back to love. In a month from now I am going to be a married man. I'll wake up next to FL and just look into her eyes and I'm guessing, I'll just smile.
The oddity of meeting here again and the dating her, the actually marrying her is something I think no soul in the world could have ever predicted. I sure as hell couldn't have.
She makes me better. She reels me in. For chrissake, she pulled cacti out of my toes once. I guess, this passing storm truly has allowed me to take some inventory. Not bitch about the weather and just look at FL, her quirks, her solid genes, her beauty and just ask myself, "why me?"
I'm kinda fat. I'm surly and moody. Well, she is surly and moody, too. But, she has that young shit going on. She could've done way better than me. So, I will take this time to simply gaze out onto truly ugly and worn down Coney Island Avenue and bask in my luck. My found love, which I return as best I can.
The oddity of meeting here again and the dating her, the actually marrying her is something I think no soul in the world could have ever predicted. I sure as hell couldn't have.
She makes me better. She reels me in. For chrissake, she pulled cacti out of my toes once. I guess, this passing storm truly has allowed me to take some inventory. Not bitch about the weather and just look at FL, her quirks, her solid genes, her beauty and just ask myself, "why me?"
I'm kinda fat. I'm surly and moody. Well, she is surly and moody, too. But, she has that young shit going on. She could've done way better than me. So, I will take this time to simply gaze out onto truly ugly and worn down Coney Island Avenue and bask in my luck. My found love, which I return as best I can.
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Hate Cont'd
I was out with my friend named Big B tonight and we were talking about Mark Maron and how courageous he was for just putting it out there in his beginning podcasts. How ballsy it was for him to just say exactly what was on his mind. To just say I fucking hurt and heres is why.....blah, blah, blah.
So, I guess this is my first copycat edition of why Jon Pauley hurts. I would say it begins with......And this is a story I have only told a few close friends, or possibly only FL. It begins with a flea market and my mom's manipulation of a scenario I was comfortable with and was used to, but then was twisted upside down.
Often times, on Sundays, my mom and I used to go to flea markets together. Rarely, would she give me more than a dollar or two to spend on total bullshit. A comic book here, garbage pail kids, etc. That day she splurged. To this day, I can't remember what I brought home.
We returned to our childhood house, but stuff was missing. Immediately, I was suspicious. (Or at least in this adult telling I was). Things were not in the house. Things were missing. All of my dad's stuff was gone.
I begged for him to tuck me in that night. My mom, god bless her soul, allowed me to buy all of this useless shit at the flea market to dull the pain. Yet, it didn't matter if I had the entire collection of series 1 of the Garbage Pail Kids. It didn't matter if I had a cool new hot wheel that was made of true die-cast steel. What mattered was my dad saying good night to me.
So, that may be where the hate begins. There are old Catholic school stories to tell of horrible things nuns had done to me. Yet, I think this defines the moment where hate, doubt and skepticism of those you are not supposed to feel those things towards had begun.
So, I guess this is my first copycat edition of why Jon Pauley hurts. I would say it begins with......And this is a story I have only told a few close friends, or possibly only FL. It begins with a flea market and my mom's manipulation of a scenario I was comfortable with and was used to, but then was twisted upside down.
Often times, on Sundays, my mom and I used to go to flea markets together. Rarely, would she give me more than a dollar or two to spend on total bullshit. A comic book here, garbage pail kids, etc. That day she splurged. To this day, I can't remember what I brought home.
We returned to our childhood house, but stuff was missing. Immediately, I was suspicious. (Or at least in this adult telling I was). Things were not in the house. Things were missing. All of my dad's stuff was gone.
I begged for him to tuck me in that night. My mom, god bless her soul, allowed me to buy all of this useless shit at the flea market to dull the pain. Yet, it didn't matter if I had the entire collection of series 1 of the Garbage Pail Kids. It didn't matter if I had a cool new hot wheel that was made of true die-cast steel. What mattered was my dad saying good night to me.
So, that may be where the hate begins. There are old Catholic school stories to tell of horrible things nuns had done to me. Yet, I think this defines the moment where hate, doubt and skepticism of those you are not supposed to feel those things towards had begun.
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